Their footsteps thudded on the wharf as they walked toward the customs house.

“Luke, I want you to forget what happened four years ago. It was an unfortunate incident, but it shouldn’t cripple you for the rest of your life.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Perhaps, but it’s also true. Neither Dad nor I blamed you for what happened with the Magruders.”

Luke chewed on a toothpick as he glowered out at the horizon. “I really hate Clyde Magruder,” he said. “I heard he got his children’s nanny pregnant, then accused her of theft so she would run away before his wife found out. He’s a vile piece of work.”

That went without saying. The Magruders were their biggest rival in the food industry and wealthy beyond all imagination. Clyde could have paid the nanny off, but a pregnant mistress could be a problem in his pending run for Congress in November. All the Magruders were mean, underhanded men of business, but Clyde plastered it over with a sheen of oily charm.

“Don’t worry about Clyde Magruder,” Gray said. “Just go to Cuba and get those contracts finalized.”

“I always worry about the Magruders,” Luke said tightly, but then a hint of mischief flashed across his face. He lowered his voice and spoke conspiratorially. “Look, I think I’ve found a way to finally get the upper hand on them.”

“How about landing those Cuban contracts? That would be a start.”

Luke tossed the toothpick away and straightened. “Yeah, I can do that, but I’ve still got a plan for the Magruders. I’ll let you know about it once I get back.” He glanced over his shoulder at Caroline and Philip Ransom, who were tossing breadcrumbs to the ducks. “You’re not off base when you say I’ve been a little shiftless, but you’re dead wrong about Caroline. You have no idea what she’s been up against inside the White House because you’ve never asked her about it, you just keep grousing about the president.”

Gray gave a curt nod of acknowledgment as they headed back to have a farewell breakfast at one of the port taverns. Both Caroline and Luke mercilessly teased Philip over his dreary job cataloging maps in the basement of the War Department.

“The moment you send up a distress call, we shall race to the rescue,” Caroline assured Philip. “You’re starting to look pale. Doesn’t he look pale, Luke? We must devise a way to liberate him from the dungeon.”

Philip was no match for Caroline, blushing furiously at her teasing. “It’s where the cartography division is. I’m destined for the life of an underground mole.”

“Meanwhile I’m off to Cuba for the rum, cigars, and tropical sunsets,” Luke quipped. “I think I got the better deal.”